Mother's Day 2026: Through My Daughter's Eyes
On Mother's Day, I think about the gift of being someone's Mama, and the small voice that calls it out, all day long. There are so many things she wants me to notice, do and see. A cartwheel, a lost stuffed animal, a teeny, tiny scratch. I travel near and far but the world is always that much wider when seen through the eyes of my daughter, Luna. My Luna Bear.
We always talk about sharing and taking turns, and she said it was her turn with the camera. Lucky us, we were on one of my inspiration trips and about to enter Schönbrunn Palace, but Luna, jumping up and down in her pink and purple trainers, had another idea.
I became a human tripod as she clambered onto my shoulders, lifting the lens to her eye. Two tourists were mid-argument and shushing each other. There was a dog in a tartan coat. A woman in a magnificent hat.
I felt the wriggling; I heard the clicks and surrendered. Capturing these pieces of the action became our covert, mini mission. People were caught eating, sauce dripping down their wrists, squinting in the sunlight, nudging, pointing and foraging through handbags and backpacks. None of it was the palace, and all of it was in our pictures.
We are teacher and student, mentor and muse. We slip into one role, somersault into another, trading places and making things up as we go. She hands me the camera, I hand it back. Slowly, quietly, daily, the horizons shift.
In bed, at night, with covers tossed aside or tucked under our chins, we never forget to clean our teeth, wish the world goodnight and plug the camera in, its little red light blinking, ready for adventures to unfold.
In bed, at night, with covers tossed aside or tucked under our chins, we never forget to clean our teeth, wish the world goodnight and plug the camera in, its little red light blinking, ready for adventures to unfold.
To everyone who has a child in their life, teaching them how to see: Happy Mother's Day.
